Relative
by mariu100
Summary: After witnessing a bit of horseplay between Angela and Hodgins, Booth and Brennan decide to make a bet. Who will be crowned champion of the boudoir, and just how low will both parties be willing to go in order to win? M rating.


******Caution****M Rating******

_The following story contains mature situations and language; it's decidedly not like some of the other stories I've posted here before. I wrote it as a form of humor therapy, to help me recover from the last five depressing minutes of season eight's otherwise outstanding finale. So if such topics offend you, definitely keep your eyes averted from this one. If you do decide to go on and read it, I hope it makes you smile; I had fun writing it. And please let me know what you think-I was on the fence about posting it. For the followers of Time Out, another chapter is on the way, promise! Blessings all._

The discussion started in the car and was still going strong when they got to the house, even after the forced break that came with paying the babysitter and seeing her safely off.

"I still don't understand the need to bring up a reference to a relative when you're trying to negotiate an impasse. It seems…silly."

"Just go with it, okay? And it _is_ silly, that's the whole point. It's a game; the person who gets the other person to say uncle first wins, and that's the way it goes. It's like crying for mercy; you're giving up, but only 'cause you're actually having a good time. Angela and Hodgins were just horsing around-it's a cultural thingy alright? Jeesh, if it was some old Egyptian hocus pocus ritual, you'd be all over it" he complained. "Getting someone to yell uncle when you're messing with them is just good old-fashioned, American fun. It's been around for a long time; kids do it all the time. I can't believe you've never heard of it before."

"Tickling is hardly humorous-in many cultures, it's considered a form of torture. I myself have personally experienced how powerless and defenseless the tickled person can feel-it's not about having 'fun', it's about asserting one's superiority at the expense of a weaker, more vulnerable opponent. When I was a child, I had an older cousin who tickled me every time he saw me; I hated family reunions for that specific reason. That, and I believe some of my less intellectually gifted family members thought I was strange. It still makes me angry to think about him and his annoying habit," she said with a scowl. "It's unfortunate he didn't try his intimidation techniques on me after I became a black belt in Tae Kwon Do-he might not have been able to go on to father those two ill-behaved children of his."

"Well, Angela and Hodgins obviously thought it was fun playing those little hand games with each other at the restaurant, not torture. At least judging by the way they were laughing the whole time. And trust me, the way it was going when we left them in the parking lot, the fun was just getting started-I guarantee that 'uncle' wasn't going to be coming up anytime soon. Don't know why they couldn't wait 'til after they got home, though," he grumbled.

"This need to assert one's superiority seems out of place in a relationship."

He cocked his eyebrow at her.

"This, coming from the one-upmanship queen?" he said under his breath, but still loud enough for her to hear him. "Ha!"

"Excuse me, what did you just say?"

"I said that if anyone is always trying to show they're top dog in a relationship, it's you. It's a miracle I get a word in edgewise around here."

When he saw her offended expression, he smiled.

"C'mon, you know I'm kidding."

Her downturned mouth and her squinting eyes told a different story.

"No you're not. You think I'm bossy, don't you?"

He chuckled.

"Well, maybe a little."

"It's certainly true that you could never get me to say 'uncle' under any circumstance. So maybe I _am_ top dog" she stated, grinning with self-satisfaction.

He scoffed at the boast.

"You really think that if I wanted to, I couldn't have you mentioning every long-lost relative of yours in about ten minutes?"

"Not even a remote possibility. It could never happen."

"Wanna bet?" he replied with a bit of swagger. "I swear I can make you say 'uncle' in bed, you know while we're…doing it. You're going to be begging like there's no tomorrow; but no uncle from you, no follow through from me."

She looked at him like he had suddenly gone insane.

"First of all, you're not supposed to be betting on anything, Booth. You're an inveter…"

"Excuses, excuses. You're just afraid of losing."

"Fine," she retorted. "But while we're at it, let's make the prize something worthwhile, because I'm already looking forward to my victory. And since there's no way I'm going to capitulate, I have nothing to lose."

"So what are we talking about?"

"You do all the laundry and the dishes for an entire month-including sheets and towels and Christine's clothes. And if she gets up at night, so do you. Do we have an agreement?"

"Sure, because I'm already loving the fact that I'm not going to have to set foot in the laundry room for thirty whole days"

"And what do you want? Not that you'll be receiving anything in return, because you're not going to win."

He took a moment to think about it.

"Okay-no problem with your demands, because like I said, I'm not losing. If-I'm sorry, let me restate that-_when_ I win…" he leaned over and whispered something in her ear, trying to keep a smirk off his face.

Her cheeks started to burn almost immediately and her mouth hung open in shock. It wasn't often that he got a chance to push her buttons, and he sat back to watch her reaction, enjoying every second of it.

Although he was starting to question the wisdom of maybe having gone a little too far.

"You want me to perform oral sex on you every day for a month?" she sputtered, aghast. "And all I get is clean laundry and night duty in exchange? I want to amend the terms of our wager."

"No-you pick something and you stay with it."

"Then I'm not playing" she said peevishly.

"It's not my fault you're not as creative as I am when it comes to your prizes. Alright, alright," he volunteered; "besides, it doesn't matter if you changed your mind about what you want, because whatever it is, you're not getting it-so what is it _now_?"

"I want you to make me climax every day for a month, while you abstain from reaching an orgasm yourself. Plus laundry, dishes and night duty."

"Hey, that's not fair!"

"If you're so certain you can win, my terms shouldn't be a problem for you. Or are you beginning to doubt the persuasiveness of your bedroom skills?"

"What! No! Okay, just to prove to you how confident I am about all this, I'm going to agree to these new terms of yours, but I still don't think it's fair. I said nothing about you not being able to get any if _I _win."

She smiled carelessly as she shrugged her shoulders.

"We need to establish some ground rules first. No tickling, and nothing painful-not _too_ painful, anyway."

He held up two fingers.

"Scouts honor-no tickling-and like I've ever done something really painful to you."

"You've bruised me and left me sore before."

"You're hardly innocent yourself in that department, Bones-you've done the same to me plenty. I still have a giant knot where you dug your knee against my ribs trying to pull off one of those impossible tantric Indian moves you like to try."

He knew she was choosing to ignore the accusation because it was true.

And his side was still blue, if she wanted proof.

"We also need a time limit. I say 45 minutes; the exercise can't go on indefinitely."

"I want more. An hour and a half."

"That's preposterous," she snorted, and then she outright laughed.

"As if you could ever hold out for that long, Booth. May I remind you," she said, slowly unzipping the side of her dress, "that men have a well-documented inability to delay an orgasm once they're bodies are sufficiently aroused. And once that happens, this little exercise is over. If you ejaculate before I climax, I win."

"Only if you didn't say 'uncle' first. If you said it, it doesn't matter what comes after. Or who" he said, beaming proudly at the pun.

She rolled her eyes.

"I still suggest a 45 minute time limit. I'm only saying this to help you out-I can do a lot of arousing in an hour and a half. I don't think you're up to it."

"An hour and fifteen then."

"You really believe you can last that long?"

"This isn't about me lasting, it's about how long you can hold out before I make you give up. And you won't hold out for 45 minutes. The extra half hour is just more fun for me. And you can be sure that I can restrain myself when I'm motivated enough. And a month of your mouth all over me south of the border is top notch motivation."

"Hah," she said derisively, shutting the door to their bedroom after having hopped out into the hallway to check up on Christine. Their daughter was sleeping soundly, and probably would remain in that happy state provided her parents weren't too loud during their little experiment.

"I'm just lowering your expectations before we begin," she went on. "You won't make me say it-you can't."

"I will."

"You won't."

"We'll see about that. You're telling me I have no self-control? I didn't jump you all those years we were just partners even though I wanted to, did I? All those late-night stake-outs, the times you were tipsy and vulnerable and at the mercy of my considerable charms? Think that wasn't hard? That, _that_ right there is a primo example of self-control for you."

His eyes widened as she slowly and deliberately stripped down to her underwear, the exact deep navy satin pairing he had given her after she had the baby. What the heck was the name of that thing anyway, a bralette, was it? Except that now everything fit-good lord...The cups of whatever that lacy thing was called were overflowing with flawlessly smooth, beckoning flesh.

This was going to be a lot harder than he initially thought.

"I'm not going to do all the work for you, Booth" she said with a sultry smile. "I'll unhook the bra, but _you_ have to take it off."

She lay down on the bed with maddening deliberation, and when her hands slipped underneath her body to undo the hook of the bra, her breasts strained at the confines of the flimsy material while he watched in rapt attention. When she was done she stretched out, with her arms above her head in a classic posture of feminine submission, wearing a come-hither look on her face. The bra was loose and unhooked, as she had promised, but still on, and he couldn't take his eyes away from the way her breathing made it look like he would get to see what he wanted to see without any additional coaxing from his hands.

Unfortunately, wishing didn't make it so.

"Well, just _what_ are you going to do to me Booth," she asked in a cloying voice. "Are you going to finish taking my clothes off? I don't have much left on. All you have to do is pull off my bra and slide my underwear off, and you can do whatever you want to me. Anything. Are you going to start with my breasts? Try to be gentle, they are particularly sensitive today…my nipples are tender and…"

"Stop that!" he said, suddenly feeling very warm. "It's not going to work."

"Don't you like it when I use graphic verbal cues during sex? I always thought you enjoyed it; I enjoy it when you do, when you tell me beforehand exactly what it is you're going to do to me as soon as we close the bedroom door."

"I like it plenty, but I know what you're trying to pull off here, and I'm not going to let you break my concentration, especially not this early; this is all about you, Bones, not me."

"Are you entirely sure this is _not_ about you?"

She sat back up on the bed and as the bra straps slid down her arms, she reached for his pants. He was too distracted by the way her breasts were swaying to notice she had already undone the button and was yanking the zipper down, and it was only when her hand took a hold of him through his briefs that he came back to earth.

"I can see that what I'm doing is not at all working," she whispered with a devilish grin. She squeezed him a little harder. One of her fingers dipped into his underwear and touched his moistened tip, spreading the silky, lubricating fluid all over as far as her finger would reach.

He belatedly grabbed her hand and pulled it away.

"You're a witch, you know that?"

As he toppled in bed with her, grabbing both of her hands in an iron grip over her head, he decided he needed to get a whole lot more serious about this.

"I told you this wasn't about me; it's all about you, baby."

He sucked on one of her nipples and heard her moan.

"Does _that_ make them feel any better?" he asked, taking his time licking gently around one and then the other. "Or do you want more?" He suckled her harder and she bucked up against him until he heard an involuntary whimper. "You think you're sore now? When I'm done with you, you won't be able to wear that tempting little thing you had on tonight for weeks. In fact, you might not be able to wear much of anything at work under your lab coat tomorrow."

"You realize we can't really get anywhere with this until you take your clothes off" she managed to say. Her self-assurance was starting to fade-he could hear it in her voice.

"Oh, I don't know" he replied, holding her wrists firmly in one hand while another slipped between her legs. "I think we can get a lot done the way we're going."

She was wet and warm, and he kissed her neck while his fingers slid in and out of her, his hips unwittingly grinding against her body.

"Are you afraid of getting close to me?" she asked through clenched teeth, attempting to hold her own against the excruciating friction. "Don't you want to be inside me? I want you-I want to feel you. Or are you admitting I might be too much for you?" she taunted.

"You could never be too much for me, but I might be too much for you. Wanna see just how much?"

She smiled, trying to egg him on.

"Go ahead, Booth. I'm ready."

"I know you are" he intoned smugly, slipping his fingers out of her one last, agonizingly slow time, making sure to drag them over all the right places on their way out. He let go of her wrists in order to take off his clothes and as he struggled with his pants, she took advantage of his diverted attention. She wrapped her fist firmly around him, pulling and tugging just enough to get him truly interested, in case there was any doubt as to whether he wasn't interested enough already.

He stopped undressing, leaving one of his pant legs on in order to focus on what she doing with those flexible, skillful fingers of hers. She kept varying the pressure and the speed just enough to get him groaning and he hardened exponentially within her grasp, as moisture continued to seep between her fingers. The motions became increasingly more fluid and more purposeful, in one perfect, vicious cycle.

He was so close-all he wanted to do was to empty himself right there in her hand, to experience the melting heat of a full release between her fingers.

He came to his senses right before the train hit the station, and he yanked her hand away roughly.

"Stop that!"

"Why, aren't you enjoying it? I can tell by how engorged you are that you're close. Maybe you'd like to finish inside me."

He panted as he looked at the clock. Only 25 minutes had gone by, and he was already in definite danger of failing.

"Yeah, I do want to finish inside you, but I'm not going to-not yet. I want you there before me."

Back went her wrists into his grip, and his mouth descended on her breasts once more.

"Did you like what I was doing before? You seemed to…let me check." He wiggled a finger gently between her folds, just barely making contact.

"You're wet, and that means you're ready." One finger and then another went inside her, and then the rubbing began in earnest again. "Just say the word, and you can have anything you want."

"Booth" she said breathlessly, "inside me-just for a minute. You can pull out right away."

He paused, weighing that incredibly attractive offer.

Her eyes locked with his and he knew she was dissecting his mental struggle, one huge misgiving at a time.

"Fuck me, Booth" she said in a rushed, desperate whisper, her body quivering beneath his. He knew she meant it and it caused every nerve ending in his body to pulse with electric energy.

The crude, explicit request in combination with his name sent a white-hot flame of basic, masculine lust up and down his spine; his erection became increasingly painful as the skin that covered it played a belated game of catch-up with the massive size of his hard-on. She very rarely used words like that, maintaining that people who cursed were lazy and unimaginative, but when she did…god help him.

How could it not be the ultimate turn-on to have Bones asking, no, _demanding_ that he do her?

_Damn yes_, his body screamed. He wanted it, she wanted it. He'd make it quick-no use risking a loss at this early stage of the game-and it would feel so, so good. No harm in that. He had self-control; hadn't he just told her that? He could disengage from her whenever he wanted to-couldn't he? Whatever doubts he had went down the drain fast when he looked down at her, laying there so passive and willing under him.

He parted her thighs roughly with his own, using one hand to guide himself inside her with one quick, hard push. All the air seemed to escape her lungs at once, and she gasped at the sudden, forceful entry. Their bodies came into full contact everywhere and he decided to take their torment further by shoving his tongue down her throat, in perfect counterpoint to what he was doing to her with his hips. He wanted to be everywhere inside her at once, to own her completely.

They were writhing in unison and he let himself relax into the addictive back and forth. He wouldn't keep at it long; couldn't afford to. But she felt so good, tight, slick, hot, her breasts warm and sweaty against his chest…until he opened his eyes and saw her watching him triumphantly. _Dammit_, he was so close, a push or two more and he would be where he wanted to be-and stuck in a dry spell for a month. A dry spell while he pleasured her day after day, watching her body do a sensuous shimmy and shake right next to his-probably with more fervor than usual-as she got hers and then ruthlessly sent him off to do her laundry.

Not happening.

As abruptly as he had gone inside her he came out, breathing hard over her, unable to even translate his frustration into a scolding.

After he caught his breath, he began sliding down her belly with yet another plan of action in mind. He put his mouth between her legs, his tongue caressing her, tasting her as she began her own little dance around it. Her hands were on his hair, alternately holding him in place and guiding him. As the moments flew by, the guiding motion became a pull; she was trying to bring him back up to eye level where the dangers to her willpower were probably just as real, but maybe more ascertainable. It wasn't working; his head-and his tongue-remained firmly in place.

"Stop" she cried, the earlier cool aplomb replaced by panic. "Please stop."

"Why?" he asked innocently, pushing himself fully back on top of her. If he was agreeing to back off, it was only because he was a gentleman. "Was that too much for you? I was just getting ready to ask you for our special word, and I'm pretty sure you would have been more than willing to say it."

He kissed her wantonly, giving her a taste of her own aroused state, just as he went back inside her because he simply couldn't help himself. But this time, he was going to make sure he kept his bearings in place to deny her the upper hand that she so desperately wanted. Hitching himself up so that his entries and exits would make contact with the most sensitive parts of her anatomy, just the way she liked it, he picked up right where he'd left off before. Not too hard, not too fast; just smooth and steady.

Unfortunately, right as he was cozying up to the notion that she was about to raise the while flag, he felt his own defeat a little too close for comfort. He pushed himself away from her yet again. He kept repeating the pattern over and over, their tantalizing skirmish turning increasingly more unhinged and less finessed, costing him at least as much as it was costing her. Unbearable, exhilarating, leaving them both always on the brink; a vortex of sensations, with each pass inching them closer and closer to bliss, every tiny move their bodies made upping the already sky-high stakes.

"Booth! Please" she gasped, in an effort to remind him that there was a point to be made somewhere. He withdrew from her again.

This was it-he had her begging. Victory was just around the corner; he could sense it.

"That's nice Bones," he rasped out, unashamedly panting himself, as he slowed down his racing pulse so she wouldn't notice just how very close he was to falling apart right along with her. "Manners are nice," he said hoarsely; "but you know what I want to hear. You're so close; you want it, I want it-c'mon, just say it. Say it and we can both finally get to where we know we're gonna end up anyway."

Her body, wound tight with exquisite tension, shivered slightly under his as her arms clung to his neck, then snaked down his back, pushing hard against his backside in an effort to get him back inside her. He knew she was damn near her limit. He refused to budge, increasing her frustration by letting his tongue toy with her breasts once again.

_It's over_ he thought with relief. S_he'll be saying it any time now-she has to._

And as soon as that miracle happened, he planned on bringing their torturous standoff to a screeching halt. He looked at her, waiting for the one word that would bring them some closure, when he saw something hiding behind her eyes. The look was gone before he could blink. He couldn't put a name on what it was, but he knew what it meant; she was struggling with the fact that she had to tell him he'd won.

To hell with it, he decided. He couldn't do it. No victory, not even the specter of a month without sex, could ever come at the expense of her pride. Nothing was worth risking the trust that had taken him so long to earn-the trust that was the one thing he would never be willing to gamble away, no matter how great the immediate reward. If she needed something from him she could have it-period. There would be no begging, no uncle, no more playing around.

"Un…" she began, before he silenced her with a full-on, hungry kiss-he didn't want it. His hips lowered and settled over hers, as his body fell back into a comforting, familiar swing, gliding back and forth within her, reaching out for completion.

He could tell that she was ambivalent about his renewed efforts; probably because she figured he was trying to trick her, still stringing her along as part of their little game.

"Hey, just let go, baby" he whispered reassuringly in her ear, as his lips skimmed over her damp forehead. "I've got you; you don't need to do anything else-just let go. I'll take care of it-it's done."

Her body started melting around him bit by bit as the promises sank in, and as he watched her relax, he thought of how beautiful, how perfect she was, and of how much he loved her. Loved everything about her-her fierce, indomitable, stubborn spirit most of all. The fight, the tension slowly went out of her body and he closed his eyes, shifting his focus away from her features to the piles of paperwork on his desk, the overgrown grass he had to mow, the tree house that could use more work, the lightbulbs that needed replacing. To anything that kept him from exploding right there and then, from fulfilling his body's screaming need for a much needed break. He had to get her there first; it was a promise, and right now he was only hanging on by a thread.

Ironically, she was the last thing he could let himself think about as he made love to her.

He felt her body start to unravel beneath him. Her fingernails were digging into his skin and he finally heard the beginnings of keening, incoherent cry as she contracted around him, spasm upon spasm. She was right there on the bed with him, every inch of her body pressed against every inch of his, and yet as she neared her destination he could see that she was also far, far away, already flying high on a carpet ride of pleasure. Her hips began to quiet, but he could feel her heart still pounding away.

It was too much, seeing that look of ecstasy and wild abandon on her face; no amount of manual labor or boring paperwork could possibly hold him back even a second longer, and his body gave itself the green light to follow through. His back arched up and their bellies pressed together as his thrusts became more ardent, as deep and as hard as he could make them until he finally split into smithereens over her between mindless, heaving grunts.

Done, _and_ done.

He burrowed his head into her shoulder, feeling so incredibly close to her, their racing heartbeats blurring into one.

Even after he finally caught his breath, he stayed inside of her, his body holding her down against the bed. He knew she didn't mind.

In the early days of their relationship, he'd been careful to take his weight off her after their lovemaking sessions were done because he was a big guy, and he didn't want to crush her. One particular night, after a shared bottle of wine had apparently mellowed her more than usual, she wrapped her arms around his neck when he tried to get off.

"Don't" she pleaded softly with a joyful, tipsy smile, her hands winding into his hair as he sank back into her. "Not yet. I like it-I like to feel your full weight on me. It's comforting-it makes me feel safe."

He'd be lying if he said the admission didn't bring a giant smile to his face back then, to possess the ability to make her feel that way. Still did.

After that episode, he made it a point to linger over her, always taking the opportunity after the intense business of sex was done to marvel at just how well their bodies fit together, how in this one moment of afterglow, for just a little while, she belonged to him alone; not to her work, or her books, or her friends.

Just to him.

But once they found out that she was pregnant, he felt an obligation to alter his routine for the sake of the baby. He'd missed that sense of intimacy with her more than he could have ever guessed.

And now that they were back like this, it was an indescribably good feeling. Of well-being, of peace, unlike anything else he'd ever known. No hurry to get anywhere, no pressure to do more. Just them, together, as close as two people could be, in every sense of the word.

Right as he was getting ready to dismount because he was so incredibly tired he was sure he'd wind up falling asleep on top of her and her warm, tender skin was making it all too easy for that to happen, she stopped him in place and looked deep into his eyes.

"I didn't say it" she blurted out. The statement was filled with defiance, even if he could tell there was a little trace of doubt running through it.

He couldn't help it; he guffawed out loud. Of course she'd bring it up right away-that she'd held out on that one crucial part of their pact, and had therefore won their bet by default. She might have a vulnerable, romantic side, which happily no one else but he got to see, but she was also one hell of a fighter and she'd never go down easy.

"I didn't" she replied with a bit of petulance when he didn't answer. It sounded to him like she was trying to convince herself of the fact, more than she was trying to get him to agree.

He knew exactly what this was about, and he wasn't going to spoil it for her.

He plopped down on his pillow, tired and joyously spent, feeling absurdly giddy.

"No, you didn't say it," he gave it up to her right away, still laughing. "I lost. I admit it. I'll be a good loser and take my lumps for the next month. No softener on your clothes, right?"

A wave of unspoken gratitude crossed her face, and she smiled at him in that completely guileless, unaffected way of hers, sweet like a little kid's. That smile was worth a thousand concession speeches. So what if he caved? It didn't matter-not tonight.

Maybe tomorrow and the rest of the month, but not tonight.

"No, no softener; and don't dry my clothes on the highest setting-it shrinks them. And please hang them up right away, otherwise they wrinkle."

"Yes ma'am," he promptly agreed.

She continued to study him carefully with those hypnotizing blue eyes, and he wondered what was going on in that miraculous mind of hers.

"You know" she finally said, "I think there may be some room for compromise on the terms of our wager. I happen to be a very lenient victor, as well as a generous one; I believe it shows magnanimity of spirit and, in the long run, it makes the defeated much more willing to cooperate with their conquerors."

"And you have a magnanimous spirit" he replied doubtfully, wondering where she was heading with all that imagery.

"Yes, I do. So I've decided to let you have your share of the winnings, as long as I get mine-plus laundry and dishes, of course-and night duty, for at least sixty-five percent of the evenings."

"I can definitely live with that."

The next 30 days were suddenly looking way, way better.

An affectionate kiss on the lips on her part turned midway into a yawn. Yup, he totally got that part of her reaction-he could barely keep his eyes open anymore and his muscles had already turned to mush. He reached over and turned off the table lamp.

Just as he was drifting off to sleep, he felt her hair brush his shoulder.

"Booth?" she asked softly, smoothing her hand over his chest as she nuzzled his cheek.

"Yes Bones?"

"Uncle," she whispered in his ear.

She immediately turned around on her side before he could comment, pulling the covers all the way up to her neck to signal that the conversation was over.

God, that woman really was pure perfection, he thought with a drowsy smile, even if she was going to end up being the death of him. At least he'd die a gloriously happy guy.

"Goodnight Bones," he whispered back. "Love you too."


End file.
